


I Want...

by missduncan



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missduncan/pseuds/missduncan
Summary: Set between S5 and S6. Stopping at a service station, Boyd and Grace are having a break.Challenge response.
Relationships: Peter Boyd/Grace Foley
Kudos: 8





	I Want...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GotTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTea/gifts).



> Happy, happy birthday to Got Tea. So sad we can’t be together to celebrate it together. Hope you’ve a lovely day. =D xx 
> 
> Thank you so much to Joodiff for help, support and the Beta and her constant nagging. Without that, I probably never would have finished the story.

**I Want…**  
  
For the first time in what seems like endless dark days or months filled with a massive floods of rain, the sun has shone from a cloudless sky since the early morning when they started driving up to Nottingham to personally inform the parents of a murdered teenage girl that their team had finally solved the case. Now, on their way back towards London, they’re having a break at a service station on the M1. 

  
“Here you are, Grace,” Peter Boyd says, placing a tray on the table in front of her. “There are sandwiches too. I just heard up there," inclining his head towards the counter, “that the traffic ahead is hideous." 

“Mm, sandwiches. Good thinking.” Gratefully smiling, Grace Foley reaches for one of the steaming mugs on the tray. She watches Boyd as he slips out of his coat and hangs it over the back of his chair before he slumps into it, close to the window where she’s seated. Referring to the traffic, she adds, "How bad?" 

"No idea," he retorts with a shrug, "but the M1 is always a fucking shit-hole of a road. Besides, it'll be rush-hour too before we get anywhere near London." 

“Hmm, late then,” she mutters dryly. Pursing her lips, she gently blows on her tea, wanting to avoid burning her mouth. 

“Definitely late,” he laconically echoes. "Did you have any plans for tonight?”   
  
“Nope,” she snorts, "only a date with my couch and a good book after a very early start and a very long day.” 

Resting her elbows on the table, she folds her fingers around the mug, cherishing the heat seeping through her hands and up her arms into her body, feeling the wonderful sensation of calmness and relaxation spread into her. She’s tired, she admits, but of course only to herself. He looks tired, too. Much better, though, than lately, she muses. The lines on his face don't appear so deep and the colour of his skin looks healthier than it has done for months. The bright and spring-like weather combined with a day out of the office really has done both of them good. It's been a long time since her mood and general feeling of health has been so high. 

“What a truly lovely day,” she breaths over her cup. “I’m so happy we took the time to have a chat with the parents. Hopefully, they’ll finally be able to move on. At least they seemed to be in a much better place when we left. It really was worth it,” she adds, “driving up here to see them to give them closure. 

  
“Yeah, definitely worth it...” Boyd underlines his words with a nod, then stretches for his mug, taking a healthy mouthful of the steaming liquid. “Bloody noisy birds,” he grumbles but she can’t hear any trace of animosity in his voice, and she notice a small smile tucking at the corner of his lips as his gaze follows a small group of tiny birds picking up breadcrumbs on the ground outside the window. 

“They’re just enjoying the lovely weather as much as we are," Grace chuckles. “Happy to see the sun again. It’s been some damn dark, long months. So much rain... It feels like it’s been pouring down for ages. I can hardly remember when we last saw the sun. It’s been so depressing...”   
  
“Wise up, Grace,” he replies with a snort, relaxing visibly, leaning back in the chair. “We’re living in bloody England - not the south of Europe or anywhere exotic... Even for England though, it’s been quite wet, I give you that.” He studies her intently for a moment before asking. “Are you okay? Are you really recovered after your cold? You... you look... drained.”   
  
“I’m good, Boyd, just tired,” she answers with an small shrug, “but yes, I’ve been slightly under the weather, lately.” Sipping her tea, she pauses for a moment. “Besides, I really don’t like this time a year. January and February always seem endlessly long; such dark and dreary months.” She tilts her head, catching his gaze. “At this time a year, I always used to go on holiday, you know. Before...” teasingly “...before you locked me up at the CCU.” 

“Bollocks, Grace, nobody ‘locked you up’, and I certainly don’t recall forcing you to sign your contract, did I?” he immediately retorts good-naturedly. 

“Maybe not, but sometimes,” she laughs, “sometimes it _does_ feel like we’re confined down there without any light or fresh air.”   
  
“You’re very gloomy today, aren't you?” Boyd studies her for a long time, scrutinizes her with dark lingering eyes. After a moment in silence, he clears his throat, adding, "Look... eh...” Raking a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his head with a slightly sheepish look on his face. "I know Valentine's Day was rubbish and I'm truly sorry for that...”

"No need,” she interrupts, flashing him a smile. "You’ve absolutely nothing to apologise for. It wasn't your fault.” She shakes her head at his folly. “I was ill and you did your very best to cheer me up. Don’t feel bad about that." 

“Even so...” He gestures reluctantly, "I feel I owe you." 

  
She raises a hand to stop him. “Boyd, this year has been so hard... ever since...” She has to close her eyes tightly together a moment, composing herself, has to swallow before she’s able to continue. “Understaffed as we were - _are_ \- trying to get the work done anyway. Adapting to new colleagues, getting used to them... and then Spence being gone for weeks on sick leave..."   
  
“Hard times, Grace, hard times.” 

“But we got through it,” she emphasis, catching his gaze again, holding it. “This was the last cold case we reviewed for a new investigation before everything turned to chaos. It's solved now, and we’re right back in the limbo between cases. Any idea what we’re going to look at now?” 

  
Snorting, Boyd shrugs, clearly annoyed. “As the team currently lacks a leading forensic scientist, it will have to be a case that doesn’t need too much of that kind of work, that’s all I know right now. The lab staff can do the basic tests and investigations but little else without supervision... " 

  
A touch of dark humour colours her voice. "Fingers crossed, no mummified or dismembered bodies suddenly emerge, then.” Realising she actually is a bit hungry, Grace turns her attention towards the plate with the sandwiches, inspecting them, but fails miserably to establish what's in them. Tilting her head towards Boyd, she asks, gesturing towards the food. "Which one do you want?" 

  
“Take your pick, Grace, I don’t mind either.” He smirks. “It’s ham and cheese, or cheese with ham. That’s all that was left.”   
  


“Okay.” She doesn’t mind, reaches and unwraps one, taking a good bite. She chews it and washes it down with slurps of tea, inquiring between the sips, “When are we getting a replacement for Felix? It’s been a while now since she... disappeared... “   
  
“No idea,” he throws a hand into the air, resigned. “Whenever... I want a pathologist this time, not just a forensic scientist. There's plenty of those in the lab staff already, and I’m sure a pathologist would be of great value to our work. The Home Office has found one with a background that seems to fit the work but she’s occupied somewhere in Eastern Europe at the moment, investigating war graves. She’s got to finish the job there before she can return to London, and I’ve agreed to wait for her.” 

  
“That’s very impressive..." Thoughtfully, continuing to eat, she muses, "Must be a hell of a job...” The words trail off and they eat in silence. Suddenly, Grace exclaims, “I still can’t believe Felix left without an explanation or a single word goodbye. Just disappeared like that. What rude behaviour.”   
  
"She never really became part of the team, did she?" Frowning, he states, "Always kept her distance." 

"She certainly did." 

"Didn’t even seem to try... fucking ice-queen." His chin is set square, his lips pressed together into a thin line.   
  
“Well, she’s gone now and that’s probably for the best. For all of us. Let’s move on and hope her replacement is a better match.” Casting a single glance at his clenched face, Grace reaches for his hand over the table, squeezing it reassuringly. “Don’t linger, Boyd. It’s all in the past now. “ 

Turning his hand in hers, he intertwines their fingers. “Anyway, I feel I owe you something. We could go away one weekend soon. Find a nice place to stay for a couple of days...” 

“That’s very sweet of you,” she laughs and withdraws her hand from his, eyes sparkling wickedly as she continues, “but I hunger for more than a bloody weekend nowadays, Boyd.” Straightening up, she catches his gaze with an eager, determined glint in her eye. “Look, Spence is back soon, safe and sound from his sick leave - and thank God for it.” Eagerly, she presses on. “As long as we don’t have a new leading forensic scientist, the team is hardly able to take on a complex new case unless you want to pay someone from outside to do that part of the work, right?” She raises a hand to stop his answer, continuing immediately, her hands flying in the air, accentuating her words, “All we can do at the moment is odds and ends, digging down through the archive of unsolved cases...” Breaking her sentence, she bites down her lip as if she doesn’t really know how far she can go. “It's been rough, understaffed as we have been without Spence. I’ve no idea how many extra hours you and I have worked, but we really did our share. Stella took her turn, as well, and she certainly proved her worth, fighting hard to gain our trust again... Surely,” inclining her head, looking up at him persuasively, “we both need a holiday, Boyd?”   
  
A non-committal, “Hmm,” is all she gets. Lifting his mug to his lips, he takes a healthy sip of his tea.

“We _need_ and _deserve_ a holiday, Boyd.” Choosing to perceive his silence as an encouragement, she presses on, "Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a proper holiday? Together. Just you and me. Somewhere far from here... somewhere warm... nice...? What about a lovely cruise in the Caribbean Sea, eh?" Immediately, the words are out of her mouth she sees the effect they have on him. The hand freezes on the spot right in front of the lower part of his face. Over the rim of the mug, his dilated, wild eyes are staring at her. Nailing her. 

  
“A cruise?” Ever so slowly and very controlled, the hand with the mug descends back to the table. “Seriously? A cruise? _Me_ on a cruise ship…?“ Eventually, he just sits, glaring, shaking his head, mumbling under his breath. "You’ve really lost your marbles this time, Grace. You really have." 

  
It doesn’t surprise her. She knows him, and to be honest, she can’t imagine him on a cruise either. But she won’t give in so easily, has lots of other ideas ready. Raising a placatory hand, she stops his quiet grumbling. “Listen, Boyd, a couple of weeks ago my friend Vicky returned after a long holiday at a yoga resort in Bali. She says it’s really lovely - beautiful and breath-taking scenery, exciting culture, good food and plenty of time for relaxation with endless long warm days on the beach. Imagine… you and me, doing yoga in the shadow of a palm tree, maybe renting a bicycle each to go on long rides, exploring the landscape and the small villages. In the evening, we could sit on the beach gazing out over the azure-blue sea at sunset… wouldn’t that be just bliss?” 

"Bwa!” he spits. “Not going to happen." He doesn't look at her, suddenly very busy with gently pushing the edge of the tray parallel to the edge of the table; a sure tell of how distressed he is right now. 

  
“But why not?”   
  
“ _Why not?_ Where do you want me to start?” He arches an eyebrow, turning his attention back to her again. “Doing yoga in your house behind closed curtains is one thing, but I _refuse_ to do it in public...”   
  
“But it won’t be public, Boyd,” she argues, cutting him short. “We’ll simply be doing it together. You, me, and a handful of other yogis.”   
  
"Semantics, Grace... semantics," he snaps, snorting. "I don’t do yoga with anybody other than you, and even then... even then behind firmly closed doors. Besides, I detest getting sand between my toes.” Rolling his eyes in mock despair, he growls, “Yoga, my arse. Bollocks.” 

“Surely even a DSI has to have a holiday now and then? I'm sure HR nags you frequently about it, eh?" Determinedly, she straightens up in the chair, her hands flying in the air. 

“Funny, Grace,” he retorts with a grimace. “So very funny. You’re really taking the piss, aren’t you? Anyway, how do you think it’ll work out, eh? You and I both away from the office for weeks. At the same time... In your dreams, Grace.”   
  
Stubbornly, she whispers under her breath, “Every girl has her dreams, Boyd, and once in a while she needs a dream to come true...” 

  
Leaning back, he pushes the chair away from the table, folding his arms over his chest, sighing. “And even if we did go - you and I? At the same time. Two – three weeks, returning home, beautifully tanned, eh? The higher echelons with the bloody Dyson-woman in charge would add two and two together and take it as proof that you and I are shagging – and even worse, believe the rumours that you and I are involved in a serious, romantic relationship. They’ll demand my head on a silver platter. On the spot, and I have absolutely no doubt they’d get it.”   


Grace knows he’s right. Deep down she knows it, and there isn’t anything either he or she can do to change it. Regretfully, she replies with a gentle shrug, “I know. I know. ‘I want doesn’t get’, as my mum used to say every time I begged her for something." 

  
“Argh, for what’s worth, Grace,” roughly raking a hand over his face, “I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t see it happening for as long as we’re both working at the CCU.” He catches and holds her eye with a stern gaze, “And I take it you don’t want to quit despite your previous complaints, eh? Because that would make me a _very_ unhappy man."   
  
“Oh God, no." Inadvertently, she covers her mouth with a hand. "That's the last thing I want.” She smiles ruefully to reassure him. “No matter how wonderful a three-week holiday together probably would be, it can’t match working together every day… but can’t we at least go abroad for a weekend?”   
  
“How could that be possible?” he retorts. “I can’t leave Stella in command – she's good but she’s only a DS. It’s not going to happen – well, of course, a weekend somewhere close to London is possible but that’s what you declined earlier.” Dropping his arms to his sides in a surrendering gesture. “I would give you the moon if you asked, Grace. You _know_ that. But there are just some things that aren’t possible...” 

“I’d never ask you for the moon,” she whispers, her shoulders dropping down, as she acknowledges her defeat.   
  
The silence between them is heavy. For once, lost for words, she just sits staring down into her mug. 

  
Suddenly she hears a rattle as Boyd eases his chair closer to the table again. Leaning in he reaches out to cover her hand, squeezing it. “When Spence is back, we can leave on a Thursday – maybe even a Wednesday evening. That’ll give us a few days together. It isn’t much, and we can’t go too far away, I’m fully aware of that, but we can go abroad then. A city break, or somewhere in England far away from London. There are plenty of interesting cities in Europe, easily reachable in a few hours. Choose where you like...” His voice is soft as velvet and the gaze that meets hers is intense and begs for understanding.   
  
"Anywhere? Anything?” she teases, sniggering, thinking of all the opportunities. “Well, it’s been years since I had a space cake in Amsterdam...” 

“Don't push your luck, Grace,” he growls, pointing at her with a threatening index finger. "I have my limits. Bear in mind too, I'm definitely not old enough to go on a bus tour with a bunch of pensioners." 

“But I am, eh?” Pretending to be offended, she struggles hard not to giggle. 

  
“That’s _not_ what I said. Don’t put words into my mouth. Honestly,” he throws his head back, laughs out loud. “I can’t imagine _either_ of us surviving that. Ever. No matter how old we get.”

“Alright, I can live with that.” Grace nods in agreement, catching his eye again, holding it. "Just promise me, Boyd, that you will seriously consider closing the unit down for a couple of weeks during the summer? It's not uncommon to let everyone in a unit like ours all go on holiday at the same time. What we deal with isn’t current, and it'll eliminate any problems about covering absent key staff members. In the end, everybody can return, nicely tanned as you pointed out, and nobody – not even ACC Dyson – can get shirty about it."   
  
“What an inspired idea, Doctor Foley. Well done.” Inclining his head towards her, Boyd scratches his chin, finally looking content. “Now,” placing a hand on each knee, he casts a glance around the room and declares, “are we going to try to get home today? It’s probably time to try our luck on the road again. Are you ready?” 

"I'll hold you to your promise, then. Ready in a minute.” Getting to her feet, Grace collects her bag and coat, and pushes the chair back under the table. “Just have to go to the ladies’ before we go." 

*******************   
_The London challenge: One of them must overhear something in a coffee shop. Must include star, bus, bicycle, tree, and something silver. Set between S4 and S7. Word count: minimum 1500, no maximum._


End file.
